


Nightmares Made of Sweetest Dreams

by hithelleth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Death References, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:45:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithelleth/pseuds/hithelleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons dreams of the past. But how can the best of dreams become a nightmare? And how can nightmares be the sweetest dreams?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares Made of Sweetest Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I had to deal with my feels after 2x19, so I tried to get into Jemma’s head and this is what I came out with.

_It occurred to her on one of those innumerable occasions she wished she could make all her problems disappear with a snap of her fingers. All the problems that boiled down to one person: Ward. The idea of using a splinter bomb was, therefore, sort of poetic. Poof… no more Ward, no more problems._

_She ignored the counterarguments, telling her it wasn’t that simple, and focused on the goal._

_Her plan went awry the moment Bakshi intervened._

_She had known there was no way they would both come out of it alive. So, when she found herself facing the barrel of the gun in Ward’s hands, she poured all of her resolve, all of her spite into her words – her last ones, or so she thought._

_“Get it over with, you monster.”_

_Why did it almost sound like a plea?_

_Ward, though, lowered his gun._

_“You really have changed, Simmons. I’m disappointed in you.”_

_The words echoed in her head when he turned his back on her and left her to… an overwhelming sense of nothingness, its weight almost crushing her before she collected herself and went to help Mike._

***

Jemma all but stops looking herself in the mirror, save for the necessity of making herself presentable, for she no longer recognises herself in the reflection. There are her features, all right, but there is also a stranger staring back at her, someone with darkness in her eyes, someone she can’t reconcile with the Jemma she has always thought of herself as.

It is only in her dreams she finds that girl nowadays; in the dreams of falling through the air, speeding towards the horror of the water beneath, frightened just as much of her impending death as of it coming too late to save her friends.

Then there are Grant’s hands around her, safe and secure, and the sting of the antiserum, and the most beautiful view she has ever seen: nothing but the ocean and the sky from horizon to horizon.

They spend hours floating on the parachute spread on the water, waiting for pickup, Grant holding her close, his lips brushing against her forehead during the pauses between berating her for all the foolish things she has done that day, and she kisses him, because she feels so alive.

She wakes up with her heart aching with the memories, and then tosses and turns half the night, falling asleep once more only to be sucked into a nightmare.

This time, there is no one to intercept her as she falls, and she plunges into the depths of the ocean, numb from the impact with the surface. All her efforts to swim up are futile as the black water drags her deeper, swallowing her whole.

Sometimes she dreams of climbing the tree in Norway instead, with Grant rather successfully distracting her from her fear of falling.

“I’ll catch you if you fall,” still rings in her ears when the dream changes. Grant is gone and she slips and falls and pain is all there is.

At other times she dreams of running from Donnie Gill, except that she isn’t fast enough and he catches up to her just before she rounds the corner, grabbing her with icy fingers and freezing her mid-motion.

Her heart is pounding when she comes to, chilled to the bone, still feeling like she is falling apart.

When that particular nightmare ends differently, she is full of shame for days, hardly daring to meet anyone’s eyes, lest they guess the vast relief she felt when Bakshi stepped in front of her just in time.

She feels safe and protected in those dreams or in the others, the ones in which Bakshi puts his arm around her shoulders, leading her off the ship, away from the non-existent – not for her, anyway – peril of the SHIELD’s shooter. Later, in the safety (even in dreams Jemma scoffs at the irony of the expression) of the HYDRA base, she has no urge to resist when he pulls her to him, her name like a song on his lips before they meet hers, and she only presses closer to him, his heartbeat under her palm everything she needs to feel.

Some nights she runs through endless white corridors. She never escapes. Faceless men keep interrogating her for what seems like an eternity, yet all their voices sound like Ward’s and Bakshi’s, and she jolts awake with a scream in her throat she hopes no one has heard.

In her dreams, she wants to discard the splinter bomb, drop it, fling it away, but even when she does manage to get rid of it, it invariably ends up stuck on Bakshi, dispersing him into millions of particles she tries to piece back together, succeeding only for him to disintegrate over and over again…

***

Sometimes she dreams that Ward pulls the trigger.

And it is neither hatred nor fear but gratitude she feels when she sinks into blissful oblivion, only for her first dreadful thought upon waking up in the morning to be _I’m still alive_ before she forces herself to feel relieved.

It was just a nightmare.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Good? Bad? Comments are always welcome.


End file.
